


ruling in darkness

by STRAYBEBE



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blind Character, Blindness, Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Nothing too explicit, Power Struggle, Royal Love, but it's there for sure lmao, hidden love, lots of bxb, not really historical but i'd say ancient, pls bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/STRAYBEBE/pseuds/STRAYBEBE
Summary: Song Mingi is assigned an important position in the country's palace workforce that requires him to personally tend to the young King himself, who has many dark secrets to hide from the world. Some of them are ironically literal and impacts everyone in this story of politics and unlikely relationships.[2020]
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. his knowing

* * *

Song Mingi had not known for how long he served the King considering he had never seen nor met him in person. His official position at the palace was newfound, having recently been heard of by the Royal Guard who were willing to make a couple changes in their staff. Mingi and his father had won their hearts (or rather, their heads) and they were officially appointed as the King’s personal physicians despite the other medicinal caretakers who were already “in charge” of such related operations there.

It was strange that father and son held the same position when only one of them was allowed to enter the palace without permission, let alone live by there. Mingi would make the medicines required, and Papa Jun would take them with him for the King. Mingi often found himself questioning the royal counsel’s regulations on the basis but refrained from complaining out loud should he be heard by someone who might as well be sent as a spy to keep an eye out on him, a rational fear, to be quite fair.

He quietly lived outside the city where flora flourished the most – and where no one knew of his and his father’s occupation. Mingi would occasionally leave the cabin to collect any herbs he found most commonly useful. On more important days, he would go by the river and scour the banks in hopes of finding something revolutionary in the world of medicine, hence his habit of keeping a pile of herbs aside for his personal use of frequent experimentation. This was how he got caught one day and toppled into the river.

“You look funny when you concentrate,” giggled the little girl from next door.

Mingi’s hair was dripping the most down the sides of his face. He was half-submerged in the river, having neither energy nor guts to glare at the six-year-old who would tag along on his little “field trips’ as she dubbed it. He forgot she was there at that moment.

“How do I look?”

She hummed for a bit before replying. “You have this face—” she jutted out her bottom lip exaggeratedly and furrowed her eyebrows to make them look like they were one. The tip of the tongue was squished to one corner of the mouth.

“You didn’t forget the tongue outside by the corner, did you, Mimi?”

“Nope,” she smiled the Cheshire Cat’s smile, the gap in her teeth undeniably adorable.

Mingi waded toward the banks and steadily heaved himself up a steep one, twirling around in the same spot to wave off some water on his clothes, a not-so-wise move from a medic like him. To be fair, he had no care for himself except his ego and gave not a fuck if he fell sick anyhow, which was why he often received an hour's worth scolding from his father.

“Papa Jun’s mad at you already, I can sense it,” the Mimi giggled some more as Mingi donned some robes, the cloth sticking oddly to his already wet clothed and soaking into his skin. He could feel the fever set it, and he minded not a bit.

“To be fair, I care not because I am an adult,” explained Mingi. “I am a grown man, so nothing severe will happen to me even if I fall sick. You are young, which is why you should be more careful, Little Mimi. Be like your brother.”

“Then why do you let me come with you to the river if you know I watch you?” Little Mimi stared at him cunningly. “Mama said you’re setting an example for me. What if I become like you?”

Mingi wanted to toss his outer robes away. He recognized this tone as a provoking one, one that meant to piss him off purposely even if she spoke with the highest of sweetest voices. She really annoyed him, but instead, he said, “I’m showing you a certain example, so you’ll know the difference between good and bad and you’ll know which one to follow.”

Who was he kidding? He was talking to a child who loved to steal food from the other houses in the vicinity and guilt trip them for even suspecting and confronting her. If anything, she was her own mastermind.

The two set off, a basket of freshly plucked underwater weeds in Mingi’s small basket. Ink was spilling across the sky much quicker than usual, and Mimi clung to Mingi’s wet sleeve as the darkness settled in faster. The child had a fear of ghosts and thought that Mingi was a natural spirit repellant, so she would sneak into his cabin in the deadest of nights and ask to spend the night there so he could watch over her while she sleeps. That night was one of the nights. Mingi would always forget that the two cabins were only apart by a meter.

Mingi made sure to send a note to the child’s mother via the neighborhood dog as he tucked Mimi in for the night. This was when he used the cabin’s thickest blanket to wrap her into a sushi roll and sit right next to her, just the way she liked to sleep. A chicken clucked by their door as she snored lightly. Mingi grabbed chances like this to hold their single candle over a few papers that his father drew anatomy diagrams on. That way, Mingi could get some studying done while keeping an eye on Mimi.

It was not long before he heard heavy footsteps just outside the cabin.

“Oh, for the love of God,” his father huffed as an announcement as he closed the door with his foot, his busy hands dumping a few bags beside his son. “You’ve gone swimming again, haven’t you?”

“Can’t you say, ‘I’m home’ instead?” Mingi retorted. “Miyeon’s asleep.”

“Again?”

“She wanted to tag along. You know her.”

“I told you we can’t keep up if the girl stays nights with us. Send her back.”

“But—“

“Now.”

Mingi was slightly hurt but unwrapped the sushi roll, nonetheless. He reappeared with an evidently spoiled mood and without the girl with whom he felt much better.

Papa Jun saw this and addressed it.

“If the child stays with us more frequently, then how will we carry on our discussions? How will we be able to prepare without raising suspicion within this neighborhood? Miyeon is a talker, is she not? What if she blabs to her mother or anyone that listens at all?”

Mingi did not want to admit that his father was right but internally agreed. Her company was much appreciated, but father and son had to be extremely careful around her if they were going to get their work done. If word had gone out that they worked for the Royal Family, who knows what would come their way? Cooperation and pretending it’s okay? Not really. Harm? For sure.

Why did he have to say this now, though?

Papa Jun began his usual talk. “How many times do I have to remind you of yourself? When will you actually start taking care of yourself? Doing so does not include only cooking and cleaning, you know. You need to look after your own health and mental well-being. Start training yourself on your surroundings.”

Mingi did not want another lecture of physical self-importance when he had run out of innovation for another coverup daydream. The last sentence, however, caught his full attention, a question popping in his head with a _ping_.

“By the way, father,” said Mingi. “Why do we have to do everything in secret? How come only one of us is allowed to treat the King? I mean, I know he needs you every once in a while, but why can’t I sometimes step up? Is it because I’m inexperienced? I’m really not, you know. I’ve been studying a lot these days, and I came up with a few simpler cures to common things like—”

“You will know in time, but for now, just know that you will be meeting His Majesty shortly,” said Papa Jun abruptly. “One of his messengers will tell us and bring us to him. We will go together to see him for a bit on a short visit. From then on, you’ll be the one treating him while living within the palace.”

Mingi was never more confused than in that moment of uncomfortable silence that suffocated the two of them. Papa Jun was somehow scared, Mingi could tell, but he had not the slightest idea why.

“I have bought some new robes that you will wear during your stay at the palace,” Papa Jun continued, gesturing to the bags he had brought in earlier. “You will have your own room, so make sure to take your study books with you too. That makes you a literal personal physician, does it not?” Papa Jun smiled sadly.

It was Mingi’s turn to be frightened.

“Go to sleep now,” said Papa Jun. “I brought home some drink in case your fever sets in. We need to be up early tomorrow to start packing. We have a long few days up ahead.”

The ink parchments were set aside in a neat pile beside the other books. Mingi changed his clothes and arranged the bedding while Papa Jun ate a little and forced his son to take the medicine. It was about an hour later when father and son faced opposite ways as neither drifted to sleep, even in total darkness after the candle had been snuffed out. Mingi’s mind was racing. He could not make out any clear thoughts, any specific words, just six repeatedly.

_What the fuck is going on?_

* * *


	2. his arrival

* * *

The next two days were a painfully slow haze.

It was what Mingi described to himself as he watched his senses blur and fade. He did not know how it was possible, but he knew it was. Here was not much to pack, as Mingi had already taken the essentials with him, which in his definition included only his clothes and books. Papa Jun insisted that he take somethings else with him and surprised his son by persuading him to take his extra concoctions with him, items he would usually frown over. His father also added that Mingi needed not bring his own clothes either, as the royal workforce has its own uniforms to adhere to.

Time, as of those two days, played tricks on Mingi’s senses, as his eyes started feeling dry, and his ears began to ring, and his head continued its fuzziness. He even neglected his next few meals, even after Miyeon’s mother sent some beans their way, his favorite food. Miyeon herself caught on and asked him of the kind of anticipation prior to an important journey that would make one uneasy.

“What makes you think I’m traveling?”

Miyeon did not speak but pointed at a strange-looking bag by the back door. The small cabin, consisting of only a single room where father and son ate, studied, squabbled and slept, did not hold much effort to conceal the luggage, and Papa Jun found it tedious to hide the bag behind the low dinner table every time guests would come over.

“You have many of the neighbors visiting you, too,” said Miyeon. “You rarely ever have guests, but why is it now that people suddenly adore you?”

Mingi felt a pang in his heart.

“Don’t worry,” said Miyeon, surprisingly emotionless. “It’s not like I don’t already adore you. I’m just wondering why everyone is seeing you. None of them look happy either.”

Mingi internally agreed. Internally.

“Mingi?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You are.”

“…”

“You are. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m really not.”

“What is the bag for, then? Are you moving?”

Mingi sighed. “Miyeon, seriously, I—”

A soft sob rippled throughout the cabin – Mingi did not expect the child to catch on so quickly, let alone cry over his departure, a newfound absence that she would have to somehow deal with. Her brother is in the army, and her single mother had to frequently work heavy labor. The baby was alone… and will be more alone once Mingi leaves. She would have to adapt to the extra loneliness plaguing her and her young mind. _For God knows how long_ , he mentally added, hearing his own voice break.

“I don’t know where you’re going,” said Miyeon awfully quietly. “I don’t know… but you are.”

_Now I really don’t want to go._

“Please promise me one thing, Mingi. Just one.”

_I’d rather stay at the cabin staying awake for nights on end only because of my studying._

“Anything, my child.”

_I’d rather have Miyeon bother me and snap me out of my trains of thought. I’d rather she beg me to share his recent studies with her, even though she is only a child._

“Promise me that you’ll come back.”

_I can’t._

“I promise.”

_I can’t keep this promise, my dear Mimi._

“Even if we meet after a thousand years?”

_Mimi. I can’t see you. I can’t ever see you._

“Even after a thousand years. I promise that we will still meet once again.”

 _I can’t meet you again. I don’t even know why. I just can’t. I’m not_ allowed _to._

“Do anything you like. Kill anyone, even. Just don’t break this promise.”

The weight of their own words came crashing down on the pair, and realization hit them like a rock to the face. They were riddled with the pain of separation. Miyeon knew not where he was going, and Mingi knew not when he was going to leave the Palace. Miyeon successfully broke Mingi, and he snatched the child into a tight embrace, the two crying into each other’s arms. Papa Jun left them alone with their much needed company with each other, something neither of them would ever have again.

Fuck, he’s gonna badly miss this kid.

* * *

The two got up before the crack of dawn, neither having been able to sleep at all for separate reasons clouding both heads. They quietly readied themselves and donned the new clothes they were sent, some fancy fabrics that looked and felt rather stiff and hot on Mingi’s skin, layer upon layer of the cloth. Papa Jun said their first impressions were very important to reserve trust in their abilities, and that included being decent and humble as if they themselves were royally brought up. After all, it was the Royal Palace they were moving into.

_‘They?’ What ‘they’?_

Mingi had his doubts as he splashed water onto his face. The surprising coldness shook him and stung his eyes, as it should. Waking up from the nightmare that had barely begun was the one thing he badly wanted but could not say out loud. Behind him, Papa Jun drilled him on the basics of etiquette, most of which Mingi had physically mastered, having practiced a few times in front of his father, who had seen them on the true royals.

“Now remember,” said Papa Jun, “that you will need to always keep your gaze lowered and your back slightly hunched, as if in shame. No, not just the neck. It’ll give you pain with the pressure you’re… no, you’re doing it wrong. Aish, it’s so simple yet you—ah, yes, there. Slightly hunched back. Also, remember that you must never raise your voice. Always show some degree of timidity in your voice, never show strength in your words. That bit’s only reserved for the war cabinet. Ah! And you must hold your own hands in front of you. Loosely but—ah yes, that is how. Excellent, my boy. Keep them in front of you, where others may see, never behind your back.”

Mingi sighed heavily. “Do I really need to keep up with all of this at once?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear boy. The royal staff will never spare the slightest degree of disrespect, which means lack of etiquette in that definition of theirs.”

Papa Jun paused before leaning towards his son and speaking in a low tone that Mingi had a little trouble catching.

“The only person who does not mind this much is the King.”

Mingi blinked a few times before speaking.

“But… Father…”

“He really doesn’t mind it.”

“He’s a ruddy King. How can he excuse this behavior?”

“Oh, he sometimes does, but only because we are his personal physicians, and that he asked us to be relaxed with him,” answered Papa Jun in the same low tone. “He is feared because he is the King, but really, he’s a pitiful little soul. You shall see why once you meet him in person. It’s just that he’s really a kind and down-to-earth soul, just as you are. He’s about your age as well, only a few months older.”

Mingi wanted to question how the King was so much younger than anyone would have thought he would be. What came out of his mouth instead was “Since when did you start complimenting me so much?”

_THWACK._

“Keep those words to yourself, my boy,” Papa Jun said as he watched Mingi softly rub his cheek.

There’s the stern father he knew, but he was there for only a second or two, and soon after, he was back to the suspiciously sweet middle-aged man. Mingi didn’t know who this man was, but he hated him just as much as he hated the man who came before him, the man who took his place.

“Sorry…” Mingi mumbled, throwing the thought out one ear. “Anyhow, I wanted to ask something. Things, I mean.”

“It is good that you ask now, before you move in,” agreed Papa Jun, back to the poisonous sweet voice, all too alien to him. “We don’t want any questions from the guest afterwards, else, problems will arise. I remind you to control your tongue as where you are.”

Mingi paused, carefully choosing his words in his head. In the end, he had nothing to speak. He figured he would find the answers to his questions during his God-knows-how-long stay at the Palace, risky as it sounds. No, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. He remembered his questions like a ringing voice in his head.

Who is the King? What makes him so special than other Kings? Why is Mingi being called to a strange position? Why Mingi? He would just plan carefully, that’s all.

_Stay quiet, you big brute._

_You may be good with medicine. But you’re better at being the fox your own father ever so badly despises._

Time bore upon him as he “spoke”, and the sound of birds chirping floated into the cabin. Mingi poked his head out the window and watched as the patches of black ink surrendered to the whitening sky, slowly turning blue. The soft mist surrounding them mirrored the colors of light, creating a glow so soft and calming, quite contrary to the situation. Dawn had broken. They were late.

Mingi threw on his traveling coat, specifically made for him by the Palace. Papa Jun looked around the cabin one more time before leading his son out of the cabin, Mingi holding the only bag they were to take with them. He, according to Papa Jun, was advised to come to the Palace on his own without any escort, as this would be sure to arouse suspicion within the eyes of all watching him from afar. They walked away from the house they were to never return to, past the other houses they would never see again.

“I cannot see you ahead of here,” said Papa Jun. He turned to his son and gripped his arms. “Make sure to eat well and sleep well. Be punctual, be productive, be neat, and be prepared for anything that can come your way.”

Mingi could not comprehend why this man was acting so strangely, showering him with the affection he had not received the past twenty years, squished into twenty hours. It made no sense, watching a man suddenly wish him well and prepare him for slaughter. It really looked like slaughter. What did Papa Jun know that Mingi didn’t? Was it something dangerous? A political conspiracy? Mingi stayed silent and stood his ground, obviously confused.

“Take good care, my son, my dear boy, my Mingi.”

Okay, Mingi admitted that that moment broke him a little inside, just not as hard as his goodbyes to Miyeon.

Mingi stood, slightly baffled, unable to think of a correct reaction to act out. He had been deprived of his senses for quite some time before snapping back awake. When he turned, he saw that he was now alone, his father having ditched him quieter than the woodland creatures in the vicinity. The mist was clearing out slowly, and the light shining past the glowing air was now a lighter blue.

Mingi had wasted enough time. Holding the back slung over his shoulder, he moved.

The lone man walked into the areas that gradually became more congested, a place he was very unsure of due to its strange atmosphere at the minute. For some reason, the streets were spookier than they would never be. The marketplace was barely awake, but the life it had was nothing light-hearted. The passersby were concerned for their lives, and a few merchants opening up their stalls were worriedly whispering to their fellow workers.

“Is it true?” A child’s voice echoed.

“It is, my boy,” said a much older voice, presumably his grandfather. “It sadly is.”

“Oh, God. Is he going to be okay?”

“I doubt.”

“But Uncle,” spoke another voice, an adult one, but a squeaky one. “Don’t you—”

“Admire the King?” said the old man. “Yes, I do.”

Mingi’s heart lurched at the title.

“Yes, I admire the King,” said the same old man, plopping onto a stool beside the turnips. “But let me tell you, dear boy. He is not going to survive it.”

Mingi used whatever patience he had left to hold himself steady and held back a bit as he inquired the old man on the situation.

“Ah, you have not missed anything, my child,” said the old merchant. “The King was returning to the Palace with his usual escort, and that someone threw a rock the size of—” He grabbed the nearest, roundest turnip and held it up for Mingi, a sickly figure, to see. Behind him, his nephew and grandson shrank.

Mingi did not know what to think, seeing that the man he was to serve had been attacked by a commoner, it seemed. “When did it happen?”

“Just now, my boy. I think right before you entered the marketplace. My nephew saw it happen, really, didn’t you, Wooyoung? He came to tell me himself, didn’t you?”

The boy, an already small figure standing behind his uncle, shrank even more. “U-Uncle! I said nothing much, really! Forgive me, Sir. My uncle just has a habit of—”

“Of what, my boy? Of what?”

“Of exaggerating things!” Wooyoung squeaked. “The King got his head hit, yes, but the rock wasn’t _that_ big! I assure you, Sir. His Majesty will be just fine.”

“Oh really? Where did all the blood come from, I wonder? Was that rock actually a massive grape?”

“ _Uncle.”_

Mingi felt a bit embarrassed to be in between them squabble. It was a squabble, however, that he was comfortable to witness, one he actually craved. Their voices had not heightened, and their tones remained soft and, what was that, playful? Ah, it was indeed the kind of conversation Mingi craved for. Maybe not the strange topic, but the voices….

Ah! The Palace was waiting for him! He was already late!

Issuing well wishes and a brief apology to uncle and nephew, Mingi hurried onward, making his way past the thickening throngs into a more open area – a place, Mingi realized, was the entrance to the Palace itself, with its broad white walls, standing tall and proud for housing the most important family and nobility in the country. Two guards stood attentive eyeing him down. Mingi felt rather insecure and insignificant. But before he had time to absorb the scenery and clear the mist of questions from his conscience, the guards were startled by the great black gates bursting open. From within, a few scary-looking men, dressed in colored robes that were designed for physical combat advanced on him. They had swords by their left sides, holy shit, they are armed. About four of them, Mingi quickly counted, were led by a less threatening man in council robes – less threatening looking, until he opened his mouth.

“For a dead few moments, we thought you have passed away, Sir Song!” he said angrily.

_Most definitely the scariest one already. There goes my reputation into the drain._

“It was my fault,” Mingi calmly said per instinct, sticking to a rather odd posture of a hunched back and lowered head. “I was misinformed of the appropriate time to reach the Palace. I deeply apologize, I—”

“Never mind that,” said the officer, waving an impatient hand. “You must come. Now. There has been a slight change of plans. You will meet His Royal Highness earlier than we have discussed. In fact, you will have to see him now.”

When not a single frozen figure moved, the armed men behind him slightly quivering, he half-yelled, “Now!”

_Time to get to work. Let’s see who this godforsaken King is._


	3. his meeting

* * *

Mingi didn’t like the next few minutes that convincingly felt like hours.

“Take him inside,” snapped a sharp voice, and Mingi he felt what he swore was a handful of bones wrap around his arm and drag him inside. The head of the escort lectured him all the way, and he could tell because the head kept poking his face every few seconds into Mingi’s line of sight, but the newly appointed physician heard nothing, not even muffled voices. He also didn’t realize that he collapsed a second or two later.

Something just didn’t click right in his slightly faded conscience, his mind that was gradually simmering away. He had lost control of his body, allowing whoever held him to lead the way, to move his limbs for him. Not that he had vague memories of such a phenomenon, but this was the first time he could recall having dropped his straight thinking. Nervousness never really shut him down before, perhaps because there was nothing as nerve-wracking as embarrassing oneself upon arrival at the house of the most important family in the country, but why?

Why was he so weak? What happened to him? He was fine just a moment ago, wasn’t he? What was it that made him so nervous, that he was close to blacking out because of his nervousness? Did the first mention of the King up close really deprive him of his breath? He was perfectly alright regarding his new occupation before, was he not? He screwed his eyes shut and tried to regulate himself.

 _Try? You’re gonna_ try _to steady yourself? You’re not even giving it your best? What are you, three?_

Mingi refrained from physically shaking his head, where the inhabitants of the normal world were to judge him worse than the boiling water he was already in for not being punctual.

_What the fuck are you doing here?_

_I follow you everywhere, my dear. You get to experiment with a whole new environment, a whole new atmosphere, and you’re only concentrating on yourself. How ab—_

_Why do you feel the need to do this? I’m about to pass out, for heaven’s sake. I might as well reserve the only dignity I have left after I ruined my image by being late._

_Wow. How absurd indeed._

Mingi refused to open his eyes, prompting him to become dizzier and dizzier by the minute. The origin of the darkness engulfing him was unknown to him. Something burned at his eyes – his own anger, directed at his own self.

_Get a hold of yourself, darling. You’re embarrassing yourself._

_Shut up._

_“Sir?”_

_You don’t even know why you’re so soft and feeble. If you really are the cunning fox that your father resents, then what’s so hard about figuring yourself out?_

_I said shut up._

_“Sir.”_

The present world collided with him, and he almost lost his balance. A softer hand held the same aching arm and gripped, preventing Mingi from crashing into the canvas wall. He thought it was inside since the lighting had become dim compared to the rising sun outside, yet Mingi refused to remove himself from his dreamy gaze as he used the energy left to breathe. His half-shut eyes were overflowing with steaming tears of frustration. He made no move to wipe them away.

“Sir?”

This was someone else speaking, not the same rude (yes, Mingi refused to look at it any other way) escort. The voice was gentle, the softest he had heard since departure, scratch that, it was the softest he had ever heard, if he were to exclude his father’s poisonous phony tone. That oddly soothed Mingi, yet he was too frightened to look at this beautiful voice’s owner.

“You’re not alright, Sir,” said the same mesmerizing voice, the bass ringing clearly in Mingi’s ears. “Sit down here. No one is around.”

The weakness in Mingi’s body had entirely taken over, and his back leaned against the wall, sliding down to the ground. With the dragged and stretched seconds that passed, his sight was slowly coming back, his senses clearing. For some reason, he could not feel his heart within his chest the entire time until he thought of it, and suddenly his ribs threatened to burst as the organ pumped wildly, scrambling to escape.

“Wha… what happened…”

“You lost consciousness on your way to the King’s bed chambers,” said the man who, judging from the direction of the voice, was kneeling beside him.

The hand let go of him, and Mingi refrained from massaging his now sore arm. He could feel the warm face close in near his and gently say something in his ear.

“His Majesty is currently resting,” whispered the man Mingi was still too scared to look up at. “He is in his chambers at the moment, and the other medics have cleaned up and stitched the wound for the most part. However, I am suspicious of the wound itself, as I fear he may have developed some sort of infection.”

Mingi paused for a moment. For a fleeting moment, this man’s soft voice calmed him to the core. He mentally slapped himself.

“Have… forgive me, did you not say that the medics have cleaned up the injury?”

“I’m afraid they have done it inefficiently, or so I think. The King asks that you check it for him up close.”

Mingi’s heart skipped a beat.

“After all, you are his Royal Majesty’s personal physician. He will trust you the most, and you are naturally in charge of handling the rest of the medics, too. Though he says it is not urgent, I suggest you check it yourself, on your own accord. We have heard wondrous things about you.”

Mingi was once again trembling with nervousness, though not as bad as before.

Did his father really speak that highly of him during his stay there that the rest of the Palace workforce dared not underestimate him? Minus the picky escort, of course.

The man was surprisingly patient, staying by his side until the fuzziness entirely left Mingi’s senses. He finally gathered enough courage to snatch a glimpse of the Officer’s face, a sharp, almost chiseled profile with bronze skin and stern eyes that softened instantly as he smiled calmly.

“I am Officer Park Seonghwa, the King’s personal guard,” he said. “His Majesty sent me after you to ensure that not a soul was to give you a hard time immediately upon arrival. It seems I was wrong,” he added with a sigh.

Mingi did not know how to react. His senses may have returned, but he was yet to properly process everything. After all, this is the first time in his life that he had to deal with so many strangers in little time, not to mention that the job was bound to be risky and stressful.

“Anyhow,” said Officer Park, “I think you’re ready to move on.”

Mingi was helped to his feet and, regaining the composure his father had taught him before departure, followed in the footsteps of the well-dressed Officer. The corridors were slightly narrow, but it was comfortable enough for Mingi to sneak a glance of each corner as the two passed until they came to a halt in front of a pair of doors that looked grander than the rest, wider with a slightly more tinge of gold in the canvas. The sides were lined with intricate designs of the finest ink, but Mingi could not admire them appropriately, as the drawings were partially hidden by two guards standing straight on either side of the doors. As the Officer approached and gave them a look, the guards stepped back.

“This is the entrance to the King’s bed chambers,” Officer Park announced. “Now I will advise you, Sir Song,” he added in a much lower voice into Mingi’s ear. “You will need to be as comfortable with the King as you can, but not too much to provoke disrespect, of course. His Majesty, you see, likes to be friendly with certain staff including you, and since he has heard much about you, I suggest that you treat him as a friend. Who knows? He might even ask you to address him by his name and name only.”

Mingi barely processed the first sentence when the doors suddenly opened and closed, and he found himself cowering behind the Officer.

The bedroom was truly grandiose, one would claim right away, as it had everything that the commoners, no, every single inhabitant of the country wanted in their own homes – a vast area of personal space, one’s own privacy in luxury, with golden canvas walls, supported by black bars, lined with the most graceful of inked drawings and designs, moderately obscured with low-lying bronzed cabinets with adornments resting on the polished surfaces, the morning sun gently seeping in through some equally decorated windows and illuminating the vast room with a soft, warm, welcoming glow. A low lying table slightly broke the aesthetic, though, as it was littered with small bottles and a few hand-sized woven baskets, and the medics responsible for applying these ointments stood in a neat line at one side, bowing their heads to either Officer Park or Mingi, neither could tell, both bowed their heads in return, to be on the safe side.

And beyond the table was the bed of the King of the country, seating none other than the King himself.

Mingi froze. He easily believed that the room was lavish, sure, but the man sitting on the bed… was easily the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. As he and the Officer, who conducted the introduction, approached the King, Mingi absorbed his features the best he could – a man built almost exactly like him, with broad shoulders and a long body dressed in, what was that, silk robes for the night? His slightly disheveled dark hair was tightly pulled into a small bun right on top of his head, and the traditional black male headdress covered half the forehead. He had fair skin with pink, no, slightly red cheeks and a gentle smile resting on his healthy lips. There were two very unnerving components of this image, one being the grey eyes that stared at one spot but into nothingness, going along with the smile but rather empty for the most part, and the patches of red, black, and pink on his left temple.

“Song Mingi,” Officer Park announced, his voice snapping Mingi back to reality, “will treat you now, and will treat you for as long as you need, as much as you need.”

He stepped back with a bowed head, and now Mingi was the center of attention in the room. He shivered in his socks.

The King’s half-asleep smile stretched wider, his eerie gaze unmoving.

“Mingi, is it?”

_Oh God, his voice is so much deeper than I thought it would be._

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Lovely. I have heard lots of stories about you. Your father has told me of how amazing a medic you are, and he insisted that you treat me from now on. Come here, and check this for me.”

He beckoned with a long, slim hand, prompting Mingi to activate autopilot and, remembering his father’s lectures on posture, sat right beside the King, where he wanted him to be. His father was right – he really was such a young man. The details of his face were now so clear that Mingi swore he was a dream, yet the even more unnerving trait of this otherwise perfect face was—

“Ah,” said the King abruptly. “You might want to ignore how my eyes look. I come off as creepy, don’t I? I do apologize, but I’m afraid I currently cannot do anything about my blindness. I think you might change that, I don’t know, oh.”

_Why did I see that coming? Why am I not surprised?_

Mingi was not nervous now, but he knew it would kick in later. He got to work.

The examination was not the least bit difficult. He found that the wound was stitched closed neatly, which is his biggest satisfaction in the case of torn skin. The bruises slightly bothered him, but he had a thought.

“Your Highness,” said Mingi, backing away but not daring to turn away. “It seems there is a slight infection in the wound. It was tended to beautifully, but I will place the blame on the stone that struck you. The medics said that there were traces of mud and dirt on your face and clothes, yes? I conclude that the dirt was the unsanitary kind and that the infection was birthed from there. The swelling is inevitable, and so is the bruising, but both are temporary. The injury may leave a scar, but it can be removed with daily applications of olive oil onto the skin once fully healed.”

The medics, four of them in a line at the side, silently nodded in agreement – it seemed that Mingi’s conclusion was correct.

“That’s alright.” It was now the Officer’s turn to speak. “We just have to keep it clean at all times. I think we can handle that.”

“Oh yes, we can,” said the King. “Please send the medics on their way, now. The poor things have been up all night and have had not a wink of sleep.”

The medics, otherwise straight and stiff, quietly sighed and left the room single file, not without bowing to the young King. With permission, Mingi began to dress the wound with a little more of the ointment in the bottle.

“Now that that has been cleared out of the way,” said the King, “did you say you wanted to share something with me?”

Mingi froze for a moment until he realized that Officer Park was being addressed, not him. He breathed an internal sigh of relief.

“I do, Your Majesty,” said Officer Park. “You sent me to check on the receiving of Sir Song at the gates.”

“I see where this is going. Did Chancellor Noh pull his usual antics?”

“I’m afraid they weren’t usual, Your Majesty. He arrived with a whole escort, as you have instructed, but they physically harassed him.”

“They _what_?”

Mingi flinched at the sudden sharpness of his client’s voice. It was like someone slammed a fist onto a dinner table, the plates and cutlery clinking sharply. The friendliness had all been dropped – the King is the King, they say, and Mingi was scared of the man he was to work for till who-knows-when.

Officer Park nodded, though the King was not going to catch that.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said firmly, surprisingly used to such sternness. “He held him rather roughly by the upper arm, and it is now sore, as he reports.”

_I never even said that._

“Sir Song also temporarily lost consciousness,” continued Officer Park, “and was to be dropped onto the pavement had I not been there to catch him. It took quite some time for my men to put the escort back in their place. Turns out, the rest of the escort was having second-thoughts on arming themselves, but… you know Chancellor Noh.”

_That is the most embarrassing feat I have ever accomplished, and I wish to bang my head against that same pavement so I can forget it ever happened._

The King’s eyebrows slowly knitted to a knot at the center. Mingi was now terrified.

“It seems,” he said slowly, “that he did not heed my warning.”

Officer Park exhaled quickly, a scoff made to mock. “Shall I…?”

“Please do,” said the King firmly. “Nobody mishandles anybody here. Do they think they can take advantage of my blindness by pretending that I’m too feeble to discipline them? And do anything they like? Go, Officer, and set them straight. Give them my personalized warning. Remind them that they will be ruled over as long as I am alive. You may leave.”

Mingi swore he saw a smirk flash across Officer Park’s bowed face as he silently left, gently closing the door behind him.

The only people in the chambers were Mingi and the most politically important man in the nation.

Mingi felt the nervousness rush back into his head as he folded the unused washcloths and placed them with shaky hands in one of the baskets.

“Your Majesty,” he said in the lowest tone possible, trying to stabilize his voice the best he could. “Everything is set.”

“Excellent,” said the King, cheery once again. The smile was soft on his face, his cheeks poking out like marshmallows. “You will be taken to the quarters you have been assigned to, sort out your belongings there, and make yourself at home. You will figure out how to cure the infection, which is nothing urgent, by the way, so I suggest you take your time with it. As you said, the swelling and bruise will stay there for a while. You have medics at your command now, do you not? You can send them instructions, if you like, to tend to me for a while. We do this until my injury is fully healed, and then we will see afterward. Are we clear?”

Now normally, that last sentence is used in the sternest of situations, yet Mingi was baffled to hear it in a tone anywhere near happy. It gave him the last gush of relief he so badly needed.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Mingi, finally confident enough.

“Yunho.”

“…I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“Yunho. I prefer that you call me by my name. You are my personal physician now. Your father and I were on a first-name basis, too. It feels strange if I’m called by any other than my name, even though I am King. Though I do advise you to address me as such only when the two of us are alone.”

Mingi blinked a few times before answering, the name sweet as honey, dripping off his tongue as he said it.

“Yes, Your Maj- I mean… Yunho….”

Yunho smiled wider.

“Drop the formality too,” he said. “We are family, from now on.”

“…”

“… I do prefer that you personally come and treat me. You will know when I need you when you see my royal guard waiting for you. I hope I made things clear. You may go now, and rest properly.”

Mingi fell silent. He may have shown it, but he thanked God that the King was blind so he would not have to see him bite down hard on his lip and drown in the floods of positive interactions.

_Maybe this won’t be so bad._

_Yeah, you’re lucky, boy._


End file.
